


Featherfall

by cherrylime



Category: Original Work, Star Trek
Genre: Alien Biology, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Digital Art, Interspecies Romance, Other, Star Trek AU, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings, fic with art, molting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrylime/pseuds/cherrylime
Summary: Norshka is molting and Vanya is happy to help, but... it's complicated.This fic has art!





	Featherfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flannelunicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelunicorn/gifts).

> I've been meaning to publish some OC fic for awhile and here it is. I always like to know what people's OCs look like if I'm reading original work, so I've provided some art of these two courtesy of yours truly. Norshka belongs to me and Vanya belongs to @featheryfire (tumblr) / flannelunicorn (Ao3). 
> 
> Dubious wing anatomy within, inquire at your own risk.
> 
> Norshka belongs to his own OC universe where he is not usually an alien (for Star Trek fic he's a winged bird-type alien called a Passerin) but he is normally blue and a member of an original species called Caeruls (very original species do not steal lol). Some additional info about him can be found on my art blog (wildcherrylime-art on tumblr) and feel free to ask questions if you're curious.

Norshka shifted uncomfortably in his seat, already for the third time during his shift. It was officially the worst time of year. He’d felt his molt coming on for the past week and half, but today was the first day Norshka had woken up in a pile of loose feathers. After a frantic preening session in his quarters, leaving bright, iridescent magenta feathers all over the place, he’d rushed to his shift on the bridge. He could still feel a number of errant feathers under his Starfleet-issue pullover, trapped there in his dash to get ready.

It seemed like the captain’s eyes were on him more than usual today. They’d met a few months before the_ USS Gossamer’s_ third five-year mission, neither of them aware who the other was, and had gotten a bit… intimate. Upon realizing that he was consorting with his mission’s intended captain, Norshka had hastily deleted his number. It was just his luck, of course, that the Starfleet mission schedule had placed the launch of the _Gossamer_ a mere three weeks before molting season.

Any stray feathers he dropped would be duly vacuumed up by any one of the dozens of autonomous floor cleaners that patrolled the ship on a set schedule. The issue Norshka personally had with molting on the bridge was, of course, that it was embarrassing.

On the bridge, Norshka kept his wings tucked close against his back to prevent as much public feather fall as possible. The dull discomfort in his filoplumes from the irritation of unpreened, molted feathers was enough to deal with. The last thing he wanted was to relax his wings and cover the bridge’s floor with down as if it had been the site of the universe’s most brightly-colored pillow fight.

“Lieutenant Kursine?” At his side, Leica tried to get his attention. “Uhh… Starfleet Command to Norshka?”

Snapping out of it, Norshka turned to his co-navigator.

“As I was saying, we’re approaching an asteroid field,” Leica said. “Should I redirect power?”

“Yes, redirect power to the axial maneuvering engines.”

“I’ll run a new route simulation as well,” Leica replied.

The dull ache in his feathers began to build. He shifted in his chair again. It was nothing worth missing his shift over. He was sure if he asked he’d have gotten the day off, but the discomfort was barely more than that of a mild headache. He was fine.  
What he wasn’t dealing with as well was the clear distraction he was generating. Fluffy pink evidence of his molt stuck to his pullover and, for one undignified moment, drifted across the navigation console. Leica brushed the offending feather away casually. They’d known each other at the academy. Norshka’s splashy molts were nothing new.

Captain Kozlov walked a lap around the bridge, checking in. Passing the Norshka’s station, his eyes looked from the stray feathers on the ground underneath Norshka’s chair to Norshka himself, expression inscrutable. Norshka deflated a bit more, turning toward the console in mock interest, hiding his mortified blush.

Norshka rushed out at the end of his shift, feathers swirling underfoot. Closing the door to his quarters, he set up on his bed with his preening comb. The ship’s artificial night fell. Tossing feathers off the side of the bed, Norshka found himself blinking away tears. Nothing more than his molting hormones. After a nice, proper preen he’d be shedding much less tomorrow.

Sometime later, Norshka realized that the preening had lulled him to sleep when he woke up. Thirsty, he extracted his preening comb from where it was stuck into his left wing and dragged himself out of bed. Norshka ventured drowsily out into the night-dim hall of the ship. He held his wings loose and relaxed. He hadn’t finished his preen, but no feathers shed as he walked.

Unfortunately, even from down the hall Norshka could see that the light in the kitchen was on. He plucked what pink down he could see from his pullover and did his best to walk casually into the light.

Stepping into the kitchen, he froze. No one was there, but a sizeable mess had been left behind. Flour covered the countertops and dirty bowls full of cookie cutters stood next to the sink. Several pans-worth of cookies sat cooling on the tabletop. Norshka scrambled to the replicator, sticking his mug under the nozzle and selecting the machine’s hot chocolate option. Maybe if he was quick Norshka could get out of there before this messy night-baker returned.

“Norshka?”

Norshka jumped just as the last marshmallow plopped into his mug. The voice’s familiarity made something inside him squeeze a bit more earnestly that he would’ve liked.

Vanya stood in the kitchen, wearing joggers and a washed out off-duty uniform top. Heat rose in Norshka’s face.

“Good evening, Captain,” Norshka replied.

“Please,” Vanya looked a bit stricken, “its 3 AM. Vanya is fine.”

Norshka took a slightly too-large draw from his hot chocolate, swallowing hard. He took a step to the side, towards the door. “It smells good in here,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep so I whipped up some sugar cookies,” Vanya said. “You want some?”

Norshka shook his head, frantic. “No, I should, uh, probably get to bed!” He scampered past Vanya, nearly spilling his hot chocolate in his haste to get to the door.

“Wait.”

For the second time, Norshka reluctantly turned towards him. Pinched between two of Vanya’s fingers was one of his speculum feathers. It shimmered bright aqua blue and kelly green, culminating with a cap of white and black stripes at the tip.

“You dropped this,” he said. “I didn’t know you had feathers this color.”

Norshka tried not to look as mortified as he knew his raised neck feathers and stiff antenna made him look. He swore that he must’ve been blushing all the way down to his tail tuft.

“I have,” Norshka hesitated, “lots of different kinds of feathers. That you don’t know about.”

“This one is really beautiful,” Vanya replied, running his fingers gently along the feather’s edge. “The pink ones are gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but these must be really breathtaking on you.”

  
Again, something ardent and longing quivered somewhere within him. His speculum feathers were normally obscured by the rest of his pink plumage. Seeing a single molted feather was one thing, seeing the whole display was entirely another. He turned away from Vanya this time, stretching open his wings in a smooth, whisper-soft motion. With his wings fully extended, the multi-color shimmer of his remiges shone brightly in the artificial light of the kitchen. Vanya was human, unable to see the more complex light-wavelength nuances of his display, but that didn’t seem to matter.

Vanya took a step closer. He seemed speechless for a moment.

“Norshka, these are really lovely.”

“They’d look better if I wasn’t molting,” Norshka said, looking at him from over his shoulder.

“I think I’ve read about Passerin wing patches like this,” Vanya said. “They’re-”

“Usually only displayed for courtship ritual purposes,” Norshka finished.

“O-oh.”

“You can touch them, if you want.”

Vanya’s fingers were gentle. So gentle, in fact, that Norshka didn’t immediately realize that Vanya was touching him. He stroked carefully across the feathers, letting the loose ones drift silently to the floor. Norshka relaxed into his touch. A soft, warbling polyphonic chirp slipped from his throat.

“Norshka, what happened? Everything seemed fine planetside before launch… since we broke orbit you’ve been acting like we’ve never met.”

His wings drooped away from Vanya’s hand. “You’re my captain, Vanya. What am I supposed to do?”

For a moment, they were both silent.

“Okay, so it’s very improper and there’s protocols to follow and all that. But at least we could try and, I don’t know, be friends instead of whatever it is we’re doing right now, if that’s alright. I like you, Norshka. I don’t want you to feel like you need to be so on edge when you’re on the bridge. We can pretend like nothing ever happened, if you want.”

Under all the feathers and professional distance, Norshka yearned. His filoplumes stood on end, agitated by something completely unrelated to loose down. He wanted desperately to reach out and close the gap. He wanted to go back to how things had been months ago, before launch. He wanted to kiss Vanya.

So he did.


End file.
